Red Beans & Rice

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The exuberance and joy of Mardi Gras season calls to me, especially since I learned in recent years that it is more than drunken revelry and people throwing beads at women flashing their boobs. Yes, that does happen when tourists descend on Bourbon Street, and of course that’s what we see in the media— which loves a circus, as evidenced by the news of late— but the true season of Mardi Gras is much more interesting (thank goodness). It’s filled with family-friendly cultural celebrations highlighted with parades, colorful costumes and decorations, and, naturally, amazing foods!

Rather than pretend I know all about Mardi Gras, I’ll point you to my blog buddy, Maylee, who shares the inside scoop on her blog, Beyond Gumbo. Over the weekend, Maylee posted a gorgeous “Best-Ever King Cake,” one of the most signature treats of the Mardi Gras season, with its festive green, yellow and purple sugar accents. Have fun exploring Maylee’s blog, with first-person detail on the parades and so many foods that are truly authentic to Cajun country— far “beyond gumbo,” as her blog suggests.

My own love affair with Louisiana foods also extends beyond gumbo (though I do love it!), and today I’m sharing my first-ever attempt at making red beans and rice, a layered-with-flavor Cajun staple that is as tasty and satisfying as it is humble and simple to make. The first time I tried this classic dish, it was from a package mix (I know, and I’m sorry) and it didn’t impress me much. I was only about 24 at the time, and my curiosity about it emerged after my conversation with the one-and-only Bette Midler. This deserves an explanation, but first, the dish!

Worth the trouble to make from scratch!

This meal comes together with pretty simple ingredients— red beans, of course, and I used small red beans, though dark red kidney beans seem popular; andouille sausage (I used a chicken variety to reduce the fat); the holy trinity of onions, celery and bell pepper; plenty of spice in the form of garlic, cayenne, smoked paprika, bay leaves and fresh thyme leaves; chicken stock and a touch of tomato paste (which might make it more Creole than Cajun, but it worked). 

How could all of these ingredients not be great together?

The whole thing is stewed and simmered until the flavors meld, and then it’s served with cooked rice (mine was brown for nutrition and health reasons). Red beans and rice is hearty, incredibly aromatic, comforting and just spicy enough that I’ve been wondering why I waited so long to make it from scratch. This much I know— it won’t be the last time. 

If you get really close, you may be able to smell how delicious this is!

An unusual inspiration

Now, if you’re wondering what in the world Bette Midler had to do with anything, let’s rewind to my first full-time radio job, where I frequently had the pleasure of meeting and interviewing artists that I’d otherwise never cross paths with. The Divine Miss M was among them, and I could not have been more awestruck!

Most of my celeb interviews were not in-person, but by telephone, and right around the time that Midler’s hit, “From a Distance,” was charting on Top 40 and Adult Contemporary radio, riding the wave of popularity that followed “Wind Beneath My Wings,” her record label arranged interviews with influential radio personalities across the country. Don’t ask me how I got looped into that, because I was definitely a novice at that stage of my career, barely holding influence over myself on the best of days. I considered myself incredibly fortunate.

What I remember most about the 10-minute interview, which was unusually chaotic because there were multiple radio folks on the call, is not Midler’s answer to my own question when it was my turn to speak. I was nervous, and probably asked her something stupid, like “what was your inspiration for the song?” Had I done even the slightest bit of homework, I’d have known that it was a cover, not her own song, and that Nanci Griffith had recorded it first three years prior though that one didn’t make a dent on the American Billboard chart.

Nope, I was far too green to realize that celebrities— the best of whom usually prefer to be treated as regular people, rather than idols— are most excited to answer questions that relate to ordinary things. Thankfully, a more seasoned radio pro asked her the most meaningful question of the call— “Miss M, what is your favorite food?”

And, of course, it was red beans and rice. I’ll never forget it.

How to make red beans and rice

Never one to actually follow a recipe, I set out to learn the techniques that are important for red beans and rice, and there is no shortage of recipes online. My version is a mash-up of various suggestions I considered. As expected, it began with an overnight soak of the red beans. I had seen online that canned beans could be used, but when I have time to take the long route, I’m doing it. Good things happen in a long simmer, and it was no more effort to use dried beans. Be sure to drain and rinse them a couple of times before proceeding.

The beans lost a bit of color in the overnight soak.

Getting the flavor party started

The flavor layering begins when you brown the andouille sausage in hot oil. I browned mine in bacon grease, rendered from a garlic- and onion-seasoned bacon I scored at Publix. This bacon was nothing short of fantastic, and though I don’t think it’s quite the thing for breakfast, it would be terrific on sandwiches and it was great in my red beans and rice. 

I had never used either of these meats before, but both were amazing in my red beans and rice.

It’s getting aromatic in here!

Next came the trinity, which I had diced up small enough that each bite of my finished dish could have a little of each aromatic ingredient. Unfortunately, about that time, I realized that my chicken variety of andouille didn’t have any kind of casing, and I knew that it wouldn’t hold up under simmer for two hours while the beans cooked. So I hit the pause button long enough to fish out every last piece of andouille with a slotted spoon. I do not recommend this approach, but this was my own fault. 

With regular andouille, it would probably have been fine to leave the sausage in.

Simmer down, now.

Time for the fresh garlic and dried seasonings. I wasn’t sure how much salt I’d need, given that the bacon and sausage had their own, and my chicken stock was not low sodium. So I played it conservative with salt, but still used black pepper and cayenne powder. I added the drained beans and six cups of liquid— four of chicken stock and two of water, plus a sprig of fresh thyme and couple of broken dried bay leaves— I rarely simmer anything without them. I panicked a bit at this point because the pot seemed so liquid-y, but there was no turning back at this point. I kept the lid off while the pot simmered, and I figured that would help reduce the liquid quite a bit.

I thought I’d made a big mistake with 6 cups of liquid! The pot was very thin.

The final stretch…

At this point, I also followed my new rule of thumb for cooking dried beans, which is to go ahead and add a skimpy spoon of baking soda to the pot. This alkalinizes the cooking liquid, in turn helping the beans to soften as they simmer. It does not change the flavor of the mixture with such a small amount. I wish I’d had my camera ready after the soda was stirred in, because there was a momentary fizzing that was quite dramatic, and then it settled down.

The dish still seemed thin even at this point, but the final simmer made it perfect!

I gave the pot a stir only about twice over the next two hours, and after confirming that the beans were tender, I stirred in two tablespoons of tomato paste. You cannot jump the gun with tomato or anything else acidic when cooking dried beans, or they may never soften. I emptied the cooked andouille and bacon back into the pot, along with a bit fat pinch of smoked paprika, which I probably should have added at the beginning (still learning here). Another 45 minutes of simmering, and my red beans and rice was ready to serve! 

Red Beans & Rice

  • Servings: About 8
  • Difficulty: Average
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This dish definitely should not be reserved for Mardi Gras! It's immensely flavorful, comforting and richly satisfying.


Ingredients

  • 1 lb. dried red beans (I used small red beans, but kidney beans are ok, too)
  • 6 slices good uncured bacon, cut into 1-inch pieces
  • 12 oz. package andouille sausage, sliced into 1/2-inch thick slices (I used a low-fat chicken version, which had no casings; pork variety is more traditional)
  • 1 cup each yellow onion, celery and green bell pepper, chopped into 1/2-inch dice
  • 6 cloves garlic, smashed and minced
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
  • 1/2 tsp. ground cayenne
  • 1 tsp. smoked Spanish paprika
  • 4 cups chicken broth or stock
  • 2 cups water
  • 1 sprig fresh thyme
  • 2 dried bay leaves
  • 1/8 tsp. baking soda
  • 2 Tbsp. tomato paste (do not add until beans are cooked soft!)
  • A few shakes Louisiana hot sauce, if desired for heat
  • cooked rice for serving
  • chopped fresh parsley for serving

Notes: This recipe uses dried beans, which require a longer cooking time. If substituting canned beans, use 4 standard cans (drained) and reduce simmering time to one hour.

Directions

  1. Sort and rinse beans to rule out any duds. Add beans to a large pot and cover with several inches of water. Soak at least 12 hours, and then drain and rinse twice before proceeding with the recipe.
  2. Heat a heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Cook bacon pieces until crisp, then transfer bits by slotted spoon to a separate bowl. Add the andouille sausage pieces to the pot, browning in the bacon fat until crisp on edges. Transfer sausage to the same bowl with bacon and set aside.
  3. Add onions, celery and bell pepper to the pot. Stir and sauté until softened and slightly translucent. Add garlic and stir for one minute. Season with salt, pepper, cayenne and paprika.
  4. Add drained beans to the pot; cover with chicken broth and water. Bring pot to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Add thyme and bay leaves. Stir in baking soda to neutralize any acid in the pot (this is not necessary if using canned beans)
  5. Simmer, uncovered, for 1 1/2 to 2 hours or until beans are tender. Use a potato masher to smash some of the beans for richer, thicker texture. Alternatively, you can smash the beans against the sides of the pot with the back of a large spoon. Stir in tomato paste and a few shakes of hot sauce if you want more heat. Adjust salt and pepper to taste.
  6. Return cooked bacon and sausage to the pot and stir to combine. Continue to simmer for about 45 minutes to thicken beans.
  7. Remove bay leaves and thyme stems. Serve red beans with cooked rice.

White Borscht

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Like many of you, I have been filled with agony over Russia’s violent aggression against Ukraine, disgusted by the flippant and cavalier attitudes presented by deniers and Putin sympathizers, and worried that there is little I can do to make a tangible difference in the lives of the Ukrainian people. And yet I feel a kinship with them and want to do something, anything, to show my support.

One of the primary reasons I started Comfort du Jour was to build community with others who, like me, feel deeply connected to the world through food. It is the most universal need of humanity, yet very personal because of the customs and traditions woven into our individual and collective heritage.

Last week, a message from Sam Sifton, the founding editor of New York Times Cooking, arrived in my email inbox and it confirmed that I am not alone in this desire to use food to demonstrate solidarity. Sifton described being inundated with reader requests for recipes for borscht, a traditional sour soup that is common across all of Eastern Europe, most notably with Ukraine. I could not resist digging into the variety of recipes he offered in response to his readers, and this one in particular caught my eye.

Most borscht recipes are based on red beets, and though I adore their earthy flavor, my husband (whose Hungarian mother used to make beet borscht for herself) does not. This version, named “white borscht” by chef and author Gabrielle Hamilton, features potatoes and kielbasa, and seemed more in line with my husband’s palate. The original recipe suggests using real pork kielbasa, but I have substituted a lower fat turkey kielbasa. I also cut the butter amount in half and stirred in a little sour cream at the end rather than the crème fraiche suggested by the recipe’s author.

The sour cream and dill add a touch of freshness to this hearty, humble soup.

As always, my exploration into other cultures’ cuisine has taught me some lessons, and one thing about this soup surprised me. I have long assumed that Eastern European soups are “sour” because of fermentation or added vinegar (and sometimes they are), but this soup is both soured and thickened with a hefty chunk of sourdough bread, which I always happen to have on hand. This method of soaking and pureeing the bread was a genius move by the author, as it gave the soup a sturdy, almost creamy, texture, as well as a distinctive sour flavor. Always more to learn in the world of food, isn’t there?

My only regret is that I cannot make an enormous vessel of this soup to feed and comfort all of Ukraine, but I hope that somehow, sharing this experience will ripple across time and space to ensure the courageous people of that nation that they do not stand alone. 🇺🇦

Adapted from https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1021711-white-borscht

Note: The original recipe linked above is only available to paid subscribers of New York Times Cooking (which I am), but my adaptation is very close to the original, except for the aforementioned substitutions and the fact that I halved the recipe for our family of two.

Ingredients

1 lb. smoked turkey kielbasa, cut into three or four pieces

6 cups filtered water

2 dried bay leaves

4 Tbsp. salted butter, divided

1 medium yellow onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, smashed and minced

1 large leek, cleaned and cut into thin half-moon slices

Kosher salt and about 1 tsp. ground black pepper

A large piece of dense sourdough bread*, crusts trimmed (see notes)

1 1/2 lbs. russet potatoes, peeled

About 1 cup chicken or vegetable broth*

Sour cream and fresh dill for serving

*Notes

Note that real sourdough bread is made from a sourdough starter. Some grocery bakeries take a shortcut that embellishes yeast bread with citric acid, and it is not the same. If you don’t have sourdough bread, consider picking up a loaf from an authentic bakery or use a (seedless) rye. I confess that the sourdough loaf I had on hand was dotted with pumpkin seeds, but after pureeing, this did not have a bad effect on the finished borscht.

The recipe that inspired me did not call for broth, other than the one created by simmering the kielbasa, but in my first-attempt jitters, I accidentally simmered my soup longer than I should have and needed more liquid to keep it from becoming mashed potatoes. It isn’t a bad idea to have some broth at the ready for this purpose. I used a version of vegetable broth called “No-Chicken” broth, and it was perfect for making up the difference in liquid without affecting flavor.

Instructions

  • The broth develops when you simmer the kielbasa in water. Add a couple of bay leaves for extra flavor.
  • It’s very important to properly clean leeks. Slice it lengthwise, then into half moons and soak them in a large bowl with cold water.
  • Swoosh the sliced leeks around with your hand and allow time for the sandy grit to settle to the bottom. After about 20 minutes, carefully scoop out the leeks, leaving the grit behind.
  • The scrap edges and ends of the potatoes will be used earlier in the recipe, so put them in a separate pile when you do your prep.
  • The only sourdough I had on hand was this loaf, with polenta and pumpkin seeds baked into it. I cut a large chunk of it and trimmed away all of the crust.
  • Looks like “beige” is the colour du jour for this soup!
  • After a nice long simmer, the kielbasa has plumped and infused the water with a smoky flavor and droplets of oil.
  • Use tongs to remove the kielbasa and transfer the water to a large bowl for later.
  • Add half the butter to the pot and cook the onions and garlic. Then add remaining butter to cook the leeks.
  • As with any recipe, remember to season every layer. Be especially generous with the black pepper in this soup, as it highlights the kielbasa.
  • Put the potato scraps and trimmed sourdough into the pot and pour about 2/3 of the kielbasa broth over it.
  • When the kielbasa is cool enough to handle, slice it lengthwise and then into thin half-moon slices.
  • The sourdough chunks will become very bloated and soggy. Carefully scoop them out of the pot, along with about one cup of the cooking liquid. Let it cool a few minutes.
  • Potato cubes go into the pot to simmer until they are just tender.
  • I lost track of my simmer and needed to add broth, but just enough to cover the potato cubes. The potato scraps that went in first are already fork-tender and will continue to break down.
  • Use an immersion blender to puree the soppy sourdough. If you need to use a regular blender, wait until it cools for safety sake.
  • I was very surprised at how well this blended, and how creamy the mixture was when I finished. And those pumpkin seeds? Gone!
  • The sourdough puree goes back into the pot. Stir it gently so that you don’t turn the potato cubes to mush (lesson learned).
  • Add the kielbasa and simmer just long enough for everything to be heated through.
  • For sure, my soup simmered too long, and the starchy russets were overcooked. But this was still delicious! Make final salt and pepper adjustments.
  • Serve it up with more black pepper, a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of fresh dill leaves.
  • The whole bowlful tastes very creamy and hearty. Real comfort food here!
  1. Place the kielbasa chunks in a large soup pot and cover it with the filtered water. Add the bay leaves and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer for about 20 minutes.
  2. Prep the potatoes by cutting off the sides and ends, creating mostly flat sides on the potato. Keep the potato scraps in one pile and cube up the rest into a separate pile.
  3. After simmering, the kielbasa should be noticeably swollen, and small droplets of fat from the kielbasa will be swirled throughout the broth. Use tongs to transfer the kielbasa to a cutting board. Pour the broth into a large bowl or measuring pitcher.
  4. Into the same pot, melt two tablespoons of the butter and sauté the yellow onions and garlic with salt and pepper for about five minutes, until tender. Add the remaining butter and leeks to the pot and sauté two more minutes, until those are also tender.
  5. Add the scraps of potato and the large chunks of sourdough bread to the pot. Pour about 2/3 of the reserved broth into the pot and simmer until the bread looks completely bloated, about 10 minutes. Use a large, slotted spoon or tongs to pull out the sopping bread into the measuring pitcher with the remaining reserved broth. It’s OK if some of the leeks and onions tag along. Set the pitcher aside to cool for a few minutes.
  6. Add the potato cubes to the pot, along with enough broth or water to just cover them. Heat to a boil and then simmer for about 15 minutes until potatoes are slightly tender. While that simmers, use an immersion blender to puree the sopping sourdough with the liquid in the bowl or pitcher.
  7. Stir the puree mixture back into the pot, along with the kielbasa. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Simmer just until heated through, as continued cooking will cause the potatoes to turn mushy.
  8. Serve the white borscht with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of fresh dill.
White BorschtPrint it!